


Too Sweet

by lunarlychallenged



Category: Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: F/M, Fluff, I'm happy about it, That's it, all fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-26
Updated: 2018-02-26
Packaged: 2019-03-24 04:45:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13803687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunarlychallenged/pseuds/lunarlychallenged
Summary: Jack was worried that a girl would play Crutchie for a sap, but the reader sets that fear to rest.





	Too Sweet

Crutchie was too nice for his own good.  
  
Jack had always worried about it a bit; what if the poor sap gave more than he could afford because of a pair of sad eyes and a convincing story? It’s why Jack let Crutchie sleep in the penthouse, why the boys sometimes snuck extra pennies into his pockets if his cheeks looked hollow.  
  
The greatest worry, one that practically gave Jack a heart attack, had to do with Crutchie meeting a girl. Maybe the kid would pick a real winner, but Newsies usually ended up with girls not much better off than themselves. With Crutchie’s admittedly low luck, he would probably try to woo a girl who would accept his money and time without intending to return any of it. She would drain him, leaving nothing but a tragic husk of a boy who had foolishly expected the best from everybody else.  
  
That was one reason it caused quite the stir when Crutchie came home one evening with flushed cheeks and new buttons on his shirt.  
  
Elmer had been the first to notice. “Whoa, Crutch, I didn’t know you were such a big spender.”  
  
“Huh?” He looked down and grinned. “Nah, I didn’t buy ‘em.”  
  
“Did you find them?” That was doubtful, since the buttons were shiny and red and smooth, but the only other possibility-  
  
Crutchie grinned, slightly baffled and very pleased. “They was a gift.”  
  
Race’s eyebrows were buried in his hairline. “From who? Jack? His favoritism is so obvious I could choke on it, I swear-”  
  
It shouldn’t have been possible for his smile to grow, but it did. “From a girl.”  
  
Race leaned in, a smirk growing. “Our Crutchie, the ladies man. A pretty girl? Where do I get one?”  
  
“She’s one of a kind,” he said. His fingers brushed over the buttons with delight, but a new factor occured to Albert.  
  
“Wait, how’d they get on the shirt? I didn’t know you could sew.”  
  
Crutchie blushed now, clearly embarrassed as he said, “I can’t. She sewed ‘em on.”  
  
The room erupted. Jokes about seeing girls was always fair game, but this girl was something else. Maybe Jack had worried about Crutchie giving too much to a girl, but they had never imagined a girl wooing him so hard he turned to a puddle of goo.

  


The teasing intensified as the days passed, but none of them could tell what girl was the suitor.  
  
“She’s gotta be somebody buying a paper, right? We knows everybody else Crutchie knows,” Specs mused. The group of the boys huddled in a circle, quickly eating mildly squashed sandwiches before hitting the streets again.  
  
“Maybe, but the boy’s right about one thing,” Race admitted with a smirk. “He’s got a smile that kills the girls. Even without the limp, he could sell papes without a problem. Could be any girl getting blinded.”  
  
“You’s right about that,” Jack said. He had stayed out of the theorizing, claiming that Crutchie could handle himself, but now he came and squeezed Race’s arm in greeting. He threw an arm around Specs’ shoulder and gave a soft punch to Mush. “Could be any girl. Don’t wreck it for him by scaring her off. If any of you’s scare her off, you’ll be answering to me.”  
  
“Come on, Jack, have a little faith. We won’t scare her off,” Finch said, mock aghast.  
  
Mush laughed. “If a girl is gonna be good enough for our Crutchie, she had better not be scared by us.”  
  
Jack had meant it when he said that he wouldn’t interfere. He knew that Crutchie needed to do this by himself. Still, he had decided to interfere just this once. While he was telling the others to back off, he kept one eye over his shoulder to see how long he would need to distract the guys before the girl left.

  


You didn’t usually read the newspaper, or at least you hadn’t, but the sweet boy had started a new phase in your life. It had all started with a chance encounter.  
  
You were a seamstress in the downtown. It was a great opportunity for you, really, and you knew that your family was thrilled. An apprenticeship with a tailor was a guaranteed career, but you had been terribly overwhelmed. After finishing a repair late, your boss had made you deliver the package yourself. You had been riding your bike frantically in the middle of rush hour. Biking had never been your strong suit, so it was no surprise that you wiped out.  
  
Your tights had torn. That was the first thing you noticed. They were your only pair, so you stared at the ripped and slightly bloody holes at your knees for several seconds before realizing that you were still in the middle of the rush.  
  
A hand tugged insistently at your elbow, dragging you to the sidewalk.  
  
“Miss, what are you doing? You’s gotta get out of the road,” the boy said urgently. You looked at him with surprise, but didn’t take any of his appearance in as more of your stupidity sank in.  
  
“The clothes!” They had flown everywhere when the paper holding them together tore. You staggered to your feet to grab what you could, but you knew that you couldn’t get it all on your own.  
  
After several moments of searching, you held a pile of dusty, but thankfully undamaged, clothes. You were a mess, your knees screamed, and your parents would kill you when they saw that you had wrecked some of your clothes that you couldn’t repair yourself, but you might not have the cost of the clothes taken out of your paycheck. It would take months pay it off.  
  
“Miss?”  
  
You turned to see the boy holding a jacket out to you. You had missed it in the mad rush, but he had grabbed it for you. You grinned at him, and when he smiled back, you stopped breathing. He was the most beautiful thing you had ever seen. Messy hair, dirt smudged across his chin, and a smile that turned your legs to jelly.  
  
“Thank you so much,” you croaked.  
  
“Don’t mention it,” he said. He half shrugged one shoulder, drawing your attention to the crutch and the oddly angled leg. When your gaze travelled up to his face, he was looking away.  
  
“Are you selling papers?” The question came out of nowhere, maybe just a desperation to look in his eyes again, but it worked.  
  
“Yeah?” It was more of a question than an answer.  
  
You pulled a penny from the pocket of your skirt. It would be coming out of your lunch, but you wouldn’t have enough time to eat anyway. “Can I have one?” You took the jacket and the paper, smiling at him again. “What’s your name?”  
  
“Crutchie,” he said as he waved his crutch a little.  
  
“Crutchie,” you echoed. “Is this your spot?”  
  
“The whole city is my spot,” he replied. After a pause, he admitted, “I usually sell here, yeah. Why?”  
  
“I’ll be back tomorrow,” you said. “And don’t call me miss. It’s Y/N, and you have saved my hide today. I owe you one.” The last part was called over your shoulder as you jogged back to your bike. You didn’t miss the surprised smile that graced his face.  
  
You had owed him one, sure, but you have more than filled that quota. You had repaired a tear in his hat, sewed new buttons into his shirt, and split an ice cream cone with him, but you kept going back. You paid extra for newspapers when you could, saying that you were tipping him for one reason or another. Your parents were baffled by the sudden drop in money coming home, but you told them that business had been a little slow lately. They didn’t need to know about the boy you had met.  
  
“Hey, Crutchie,” you beamed. “What’s the headline?”  
  
“Pretty girl sweeps all of Manhattan off its feet,” he said in an official voice.  
  
You briefly glanced at the headline, warmth flooding your cheeks. The front page screamed about a plague in California, but the dreadful news didn’t weather away the delight pooling in your belly. You slid three pennies into his hand.  
  
“What’s this for?” he asked, surprised.  
  
“I heard that models make good money these days,” you replied with a smile.  
  
“Geez, picture me, a model,” he laughed. You loved the sound, even if it was a little self depreciating.  
  
“Believe me, Crutchie, you are the handsomest boy on this side of the Atlantic. If I had more to tip you, I would.” You winked at him, enjoying the way his smile went a little goofy, and turned to go. You would have to dash if you were going to have time for lunch before your break ended.  
  
He grabbed your hand, staggering a little to keep his balance against the crutch. “Wait! Y/N, hang on.” You turned back, squeezing his hand a little. “Could I walk you home from work tonight?”  
  
You froze. You had thought maybe he was sweet on you, but you had never imagined that he could like you well enough to walk you home. He would probably meet your parents if you did that. What would they think?  
  
A sheepish smile bloomed on his cheeks, but his eyes dulled a little. “It was just a thought, you don’t have to-”  
  
You lunged forward to press your lips against the corner of his mouth. “I get off at seven. See you then?”  
  
You were backing away when the wolf whistling started across the street. The two of you looked over to see a small crowd of boys beamed. There was a flurry of fists pumping, delighted hopping from one foot to the next, and ecstatic waves. One boy, standing at the front of the group, rolled his eyes and gave Crutchie an apologetic smile. He shrugged as though to ask "what can you do?"  
  
Crutchie gave a huff of irritation, but you could feel the fondness thrumming through it. “I’ll see you at seven.”  
  
The both of you were as red as the buttons on his shirt, but you felt as light as air as you went back to work.


End file.
